Inevitable
by kangeiko
Summary: Sooner or later... Denny/Alan implied , Brad, Shirley. Not a particularly happy fic.


**Title**: Inevitable  
**Summary:** Sooner or later... Denny/Alan (implied), Brad, Shirley. Not a particularly happy fic.  
**Spoilers:** Mid-season 2, maybe?

*

"I can defend you from here," Denny said.

Alan sighed. "Denny -"

"Denny Crane."

"Yes. Still -"

"_Denny. Crane._"

"Just the same." He made a small moue and shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "I'm sure that Brad has my best interests at heart. Don't you, Brad?"

Brad had been staring off into space, evidently thinking about things that had little, if anything, to do with Alan Shore's best interests. A sharp elbow in the ribs from Shirley brought him back to the present. "Yes," he said automatically. "Of course."

"Hrmmmm," Denny said, evidently still unconvinced.

Alan sighed again, then moved to sit down next to him, snagging the nearest chair and dragging it to the hospital bed. At this, Shirley obligingly tapped Brad on the elbow and drew him to the other side of the room, opening up the case file and murmuring to him something just beyond earshot. Denny scowled and Alan's lips thinned at the expression. He tipped his head, almost as if leaning in, and pitched his voice low. "Denny," he said quietly, "you and I both know that you can do this, even in your current, ah, condition."

"There is nothing wrong with my condition!" Denny hissed. It was a little too loud, and Shirley caught it, raising an eyebrow. "There isn't!" He insisted more loudly, banging his fist down on the nearest surface. Unfortunately, given that the nearest surface was his own hospital bed, it didn't have quite the dramatic effect he had obviously been amining for.

"Of course there isn't," Alan soothed. His voice dropped even lower, "but, Denny, I don't think that this is the time to test it, do you?" He tapped the IV out of the way and scooted a little closer, fixing his gaze on the suddenly fascinating hospital tray and its various jello offerings. "Just do this as - as a favour for me, all right? _Let this one go_."

There was a long pause at that, while Denny looked at him and he looked at the jello and, across the room, Shirley did her best to make Brad not look at either of them. Alan studied the hospital tray, sparse white and steel, the scent of bleach stronger than any smell the food might have once been purported to possess. Denny had not attempted any of his meals, evidently; the nurses had quite despaired of convincing him to eat anything at all that had not three seconds earlier been the hind end of a cow. _You have to get him to eat, Mr Shore. And tell him to stop pinching the nurses' bottoms while you're at it!_

Finally - just when Alan was considering asking Shirley and Brad to just _leave, would you please_? and shaking some sense into the man - Denny harumphed, glared at him and shoved him away. "Oh, go and prep for your case, why don't you," he muttered, and crossed his arms. "I'm busy eating jello."

"And with something so appetising, who could blame you?" Alan said airily, and withdrew. "Well, we should leave you to your rest. Brad and I are due in court, and Shirley -" he turned to Shirley, eyes wide with innocence. "Well, I'll leave you to your pillow-fluffing." He strode from the hospital room, coat swinging behind him. Brad stared, a little discomforted, in his wake, until a hand appeared from nowhere, grabbed Brad's coat lapel and dragged him unceremoniously out of sight.

Shirley folded her arms.

"So. You wanna fluff my pillow?" Denny wagged his eyebrows.

She smiled. "Sure, Denny."

It wasn't until after she had left, the faint scent of her perfume lingering, that he realised what the hated emotion on her face had been.

He threw the pillows on the floor.

*

"You need to stop this, Alan."

"Why, Brad, I'm touched that you care."

"I'm serious. Your conduct reflects badly on this firm, it reflects badly on the partners _in_ the firm, and It. Reflects. Badly. On. _Me._" He punctuated each word with a sharp prod at Alan's chest, taking a step forward until they were practically eye-to-eye. Well - eye-to-collarbone, but he wasn't going to be petty about this.

Alan smoothed his suit jacket across his chest and smiled. "And that is clearly motivation for me to change my lewd and unrepentant ways."

Disgusted, Brad slapped the 'resume' button and the elevator lurched back into motion. "You do what you like," he said, "you always do in the end."

"Why, yes," Alan said, bemused. "I do, don't I?"

*

"You're not taking this seriously."

"On the contrary," Alan smiled, "I find the level of the prosecutor's incompetence an exceptionally serious matter."

"Yes, and telling the judge that undoubtedly endeared you to him."

"D'you think? - yes, we're here to see Mr Crane."

Brad rolled his eyes. "Alan, I'm not doing this for my health, I'm doing it to save your ass. _Again_. You need to stop what you're doing - _all of it_ - all right?"

"Suppose I don't."

"Then you'll go to prison."

"Ah, but I have faith in you, Brad!"

Brad stuck his arm out, barring Alan's way into the room. "No," he said, quiet and low, shifting so his body was flush against Alan's, and his voice wouldn't carry. "You have faith in _Denny_. I'm not Denny, Alan. I can only argue the facts with the judge, and the facts are _not_ on your side. You need to _stop._"

Alan stared at him, stonily. "Remove your arm."

*

"They won't give me any Scotch!"

"I'm told that it's to stop your heart from giving them any more trouble," Alan said helpfully, and blew bubbles into his milkshake.

Denny watched him suspiciously. "You're very good at that," he said, almost accusing.

Alan laughed. "Yes. A youth misspent in diners and ice-cream parlours. Want some?"

It occured to Denny that blowing bubbles in vanilla milkshakes was probably not the most dignified thing for him to do. "Yes," he said.

*

"Denny -"

"Denny."

"_Denny!_ - Nurse! What's wrong with him!"

"He's just sleeping, Mr Shore. There's no need to panic."

"No need to - he's not waking up!"

"He'll wake up when he needs to."

*

"Come to the meeting."

"No."

"Come to the meeting."

"Was I perhaps unclear in my earlier comments? _No._"

"Come to the meeting, or go to jail."

"_Those_ are my options?!"

"You've exhausted all others -"

"So now I have to resort to a poorly-disguised circle-jerk to rescue my own damn self from jail time. Tell me, Brad, did the other little boys convince you that it's _not_ gay if you _all_ do it? Because, let me tell you right now, they were joshing you for a look at your pee-pee."

"Alan, don't be ridiculous," Denny said firmly, suddenly jolted into wakefulness. "A circle-jerk is _not_ gay."

"It's not a -" Brad started, too surprised to say anything else, but Denny had already closed his eyes, mumuring _Denny Crane_ as he slipped back into sleep. "Shit," he said dully.

Alan stared at his hands, one holding onto Denny's sleep-warm arm, the other propping the file open across Denny's chest. "Shit," he echoed, and folded the file, throwing it vaguely in the direction of one of the nearby chairs. _Shit_. Well, yes. Wait a week for him to wake up, and get him for three seconds. _This_ was normal? _And if you go to jail, what then?_ That nasty little voice insisted. _What if he wakes up and you're not here?_

"Listen," Brad started, a little hesitant, "maybe I wasn't -"

"No," Alan said, waving this away with his now-free hand. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, visibly forcing his face into a relaxed expression. "Well, it seems that I stand corrected. At what time should I arrive for this delightful soiree?"

Brad watched Alan's fingers, long and elegant and almost tanned-looking against the pristine whiteness of Denny's hospital gown. He stood. "I'll set it up and phone you," he said quietly. _You should stay here with him,_ he thought about saying, but it seemed a little redundant.

*

"Denny. Hi. Remember me? It's Brad. I just wanted to tell you about the case - about Alan's case. We won, Denny. He's not in jail, and he wasn't even in contempt."

"He's sleeping, Bradley, he's not a vegetable."

"I thought you were at the office."

"I was." He gestured expansively with the unlit cigar. "It didn't seem right on my own."

"Right." He looked back down at Denny's still face, slack in sleep. The heart monitor _beep_-ed reassuringly with each rise and fall of the broad chest; a soft accompaniment to the _thrum_ of the respirator. "I should leave you to -"

"If you would be so kind." Brad nodded, and stood, folding his coat carefully over his arm as he turned to leave. Alan hesitated. "Brad." The Ken-doll face was blank, fatigue the only emotion visible. "That was an interesting and - dare I say it - impassioned defence. Almost possessive, one might say. If that impressive display of territoriality had not worked, did you perhaps plan to pee on me? Because I am afraid that for some things, I _do_ need a doctor's note."

He caught the thin sliver of a smile as Brad left the room.

He shifted in his chair, folding his legs carefully. "Denny. New case today. I think you'd like it - a man sued for shooting the neighbour's dog. He's arguing that it was a public menace, and maybe he'd be right with any other dog, but with a Chihuahua, I am a trifle puzzled as to why we have, yet again, accepted a case such as this." Denny didn't move. "Denny," Alan said, quiet and slow. His hands were numb over the coat folded in his lap: all soft cashmere and wool and cigar-smoke, and the heavy weight of the revolver in the right pocket. "Wake up, Denny."

fin


End file.
